Bulldozer (Hard to Love 3) - Page 59
But he does.
Grant makes me want to shake things up, take apart the carefully constructed order of my life and rearrange it. Order that up until now has been necessary for my mental health.
By the time I drag my sorry, smelly self into the shower, it’s almost midnight. The hot water beating down on me washes away not only the questionable scent of the Atlantic but also the last of the strength I was hoarding.
I have to actually sit on the tiled ledge in fear I’ll end up facedown on the shower floor and we’ll have to rush to the hospital all over again, one I plan on never stepping foot inside again.
The heat looses the grip I have on my emotions. A sense of epic failure rushes up on me. That and so much more. Otherwise, I’m fine. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
I crawl into bed and stare up at the ceiling, and that’s when the lies end. A steady stream of tears slides down my face. Nothing will stem the flow and no amount of positive thinking is going to fix this.
“Amanda.”
I can’t have him see me like this. At my worst. My weakest. Raw and battered and hanging on by a very fine thread. This is where I draw the line.
“I can hear you. I’m coming in.”
“No, don’t!” The door swings open and a dark figure stands motionless in the threshold. I scramble to sit up in bed and roughly brush away the wetness on my face. A loud, faithless hiccup comes out of me. So much for preserving the last shred of dignity I possess.
“I’m not in the mood for company, Grant. Really.”
Sighing loudly, the dark silhouette approaches. He sits on the bed, inches away from my bent legs. The mattress sags about three feet and almost takes me with it.
“What happened?”
A big hand reaches out and wraps around my ankle, the warmth and strength grounding me. That and the low resonance of his voice makes me want to confess every bad deed I’ve ever committed, beg him to take the burden off my shoulders. His hand skates up my bare leg squeezing my calf, moving further to my bent knee and resting there.
We didn’t have a chance to talk about why we were in the ER. On the ride home in his SUV, he stayed blessedly silent on the matter, wisely sensing it would only upset Sam. If I thought the world of him before, now he’s on a pedestal with the best.
“He almost drowned.” I barely get the words out before loud, choked wails rip out of me. It’s almost completely dark in the room and still I hide my face behind my hands, my shame along with it. “He went in after a tennis ball and I almost lost him to the undertow.”
A feeling of weightlessness comes over me, and the next thing I know I’m in his lap with his arms wrapped around me, his chin resting on top of my head. My body shudders with every sob and his grip on me tightens. He takes them all and in return gives me comfort.
Minutes pass before I can get a comprehensible word out. “I’m trying so hard and still, I’m the shittiest mother on the planet.”
“Don’t do that. Don’t knock yourself down.” He pets my back, my hair, curls a hand around my shoulder. It feels so good I never want it to stop. “You’re a great mom.”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
“Don’t I? I’ve been here with you for almost two months…I watch you. I see you…whatever happened in the past don’t let it ruin all the good you’re doing now,” he murmurs, his words slipping beneath my skin and insinuating themselves in my heart. “You fight for him. I know how much you love him…you should be proud of yourself. And while you’re at it fight for yourself too. Take what you want. You deserve it…I hope you know that.”
I want you, my mind and body scream.
There’s so much sincerity in this voice that it jumpstarts the tears again. I dig my face into his neck, my hand closing on a fistful of t-shirt. He’s an anchor, this man. He’s all things noble and good.
“Why are you so good to me?”
I wait for his answer. And wait. The silence leaves me feeling sick to my stomach. I sounded pathetic. I know I did. “Never mind,” I add and try to untangle myself from his hold.
His arms tighten and his mouth inches closer, hovering near my ear. “Can I get a minute to think about what I want to say, or is this a two-minute drill?”
Despite everything, I smile against the warm skin of his throat and nod.
“I’m really sorry for the way I treated you when you got here. I was in a bad place in my head and being around you made me anxious.”
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